


No Rest For The Wicked

by LinneaKou



Series: The Night Has A Thousand Eyes [5]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Batman AU, Gotham AU, Italian Mafia, M/M, Minor Violence, Mob Wars, Non-Graphic Violence, Russian Mafia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-01 11:13:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17243219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LinneaKou/pseuds/LinneaKou
Summary: A mob war is brewing in Gotham, and there's a new dark figure stalking the streets. Catwoman and Black Kat grapple with what this means for their nighttime business.In the meantime, restored Gotham socialite Viktor Nikiforov attempts to have a public life and takes an interest in charity work... specifically, the charity works of one Yuuri Katsuki.





	1. mortal kings are ruling castles ♘

**Author's Note:**

  * For [crowtective](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crowtective/gifts).



> Told you I wasn't abandoning this. :)
> 
> Special thanks to my friends on Discord at Bedtime Stories and the YOI Superhero zine server for egging me on. And of course, thank you to Nic for creating this AU in the first place.
> 
> Work title inspired by _Ain't No Rest For The Wicked_ by Cage The Elephant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Batman begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from _Emperor's New Clothes_ by Panic! At The Disco.
> 
> This chapter will be the last thing I post in 2018. Onward!

A mob war was underway in Gotham.

The first signs of it weren’t subtle: a nightclub owned by Maroni family got hit by a man with a machine gun. The body count was horrendous. Viktor turned off the TV and disappeared into the Batcave for the rest of the day and most of the next, and it was only because of Yuri’s text alerts that he saw the retaliation: someone held up the restaurant that Falcone worked out of and raised the kill rate by a few dozen after it spilled out into the street.

The shootout at the docks happened a day later, and Viktor heard through Chris that a few good cops had lost their lives at that. It was worse than sobering. Viktor got into his town car and headed downtown for an emergency meeting with Mr. de la Iglesia.

“The first iteration of the armor is ready to go,” the man said as soon as they entered his private lab. “I’ve stress-tested it and run the gamut of battery trials. Try not to stand in the way of machine gunfire, it can only handle strikes in one place up to three or four times before it’s compromised.” He looked at Viktor, his normally smooth face crinkled in worry. “Do you think you can make a difference in this?”

“I can try,” Viktor answered as they packed up the gear he would need for his nighttime activities.

When he pulled into the mansion’s garage and hauled his crates out of the back, Yuri was there to meet him. The teen helped him carry in his gear, but as soon as they were in the catacombs he began to push Viktor to come along.

Viktor cut him off. “No. You’re not ready.”

“Fuck you, old man. This is bad.” Yuri ran a finger along the edge of one of the bat-shaped throwing blades. “You need all the help you can get.”

“I’m not going out to confront the mob. I’m going to scare the bosses.”

Yuri glared at him. “That’s useless.”

“Not really.” Viktor smiled darkly. “It’s a strategy. You have to start at the top.”

 

He made his vigilante debut on an unseasonably warm, rainy night. Despite it being mid-January, the weather was more like a bitter autumn night. There was a chilled drizzle coming down on the late-night stragglers, and their breath rose in mists around their faces. They kept their heads ducked down against the rain, and thus didn’t see the figure overhead, moving from rooftop to rooftop like a shadow.

Maroni’s nightclub was still surrounded by police tape and barriers, but the cops on duty had clearly been well-compensated to leave their posts as Maroni and his men dragged some hapless schmuck around to the back and threw him up against the dumpsters.

First order of business, take out the guards stationed at the perimeter. It was almost child’s play to slink from shadow to shadow and avoid detection, and the guards went down in a quick blitz that resulted in little noise. They were left strung up on lampposts for the honest cops to come for.

The next step was thinning the herd surrounding Maroni. The next guard to go down made enough noise that the mob boss sent two of his posse to go investigate.

They found a hooded figure crouched over their fallen comrades, pointed ears on the cowl and the pooled cloak making their minds immediately leap to the image of a vampire. One of the mobsters screamed and opened fire.

When the gunfire stopped, there was no one standing there. The jumpy mobster’s grip on his gun shook as his buddies blinked and looked around. One of them pulled his phone from his pocket and used the flashlight to illuminate the dark pools of shadow throughout the alley. It was utterly empty.

Something whistled past from behind them and knocked the phone out of the mobster’s hand, and he yelped in pain. Then he vanished in a swoosh of movement, a swoop of a cape.

The trigger-happy guy screamed and fired again, but again there was nothing to hit.

“What the fuck is that?” another one yelled, his voice high-pitched in terror. Then he two vanished with a yelp.

The last one remaining was the one with the gun, and he was shaking hard enough to make the gun rattle. “Where are you?” he demanded, his teeth chattering. “ _Where are you?!_ ”

“Behind you.”

The gun was twisted away and pulled from the mobster’s hands, and the man himself screamed in pain as his wrist was snapped and shoulder dislocated. He turned tail and ran away, down the alley and around the front of the burnt-out club.

Viktor watched the man run, mouth drawn tight. He turned on his heel and aimed his rappelling gun at the rooftop to the side. The spring-loaded gun fired off and within seconds he was scaling the building, keeping hunched over to avoid being made.

Below him, he heard Maroni demanding to know where his guys had gone.

He had visual contact. Maroni was standing in the center of a loose circle, with just four mobsters plus their unfortunate victim, and he looked _pissed_.

Viktor smirked to himself. _Good_. Emotions tended to cloud rationality.

One of the mobsters sprinted away, down the alley to see what had become of his comrades. Viktor took the opportunity to reposition himself and prepare his dart gun.

_Thwip! Thwip thwip!_

It was too easy to hit his targets. The darts were long enough to easily pierce the mobsters’ silken shirts and nice jackets. The three remaining guards dropped like gadflies around an increasingly frightened Maroni.

Viktor decided to make his grand entrance.

Over the past few weeks, he had come across designs for a portable low-range glider that had never gone into production according to Mr. de la Iglesia. He had wasted no time modifying it for his purposes.

He launched himself from his rooftop, cape flaring around him like the wings of a… well, _bat_. The glider took the brunt of the wind and translated it into forward motion, and Viktor had spent a solid two weeks refining the technique of riding the air currents. His descent was just a tad bit ungainly, but the spectacle of a man in all black with a vampire-like cape _flying_ towards Maroni was enough to scare the man shitless.

“Salvatore Maroni,” he said instead, pitching his voice lower and changing the inflection. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“What the fuck?!” Maroni sputtered. He went for the pistol stowed in his waistband, but Viktor was faster. He caught the man’s wrist and cracked it, loosening his grip on the gun. It was simple to just dump the ammo clip and toss the empty gun away, sending it clattering into the night.

“This stops now,” Viktor growled, grabbing Maroni by the throat and slamming him against the dumpster. “Your little turf war with Falcone is over, effective immediately.”

“Or else what?” Maroni gasped, clawing at Viktor’s gauntlets.

Viktor smiled, a sharp little smirk that made the mobster even more frantic. “Or else you’ll get another visit from me.”

Maroni’s eyes rolled back and he went limp. Viktor dropped the unconscious mob boss in an ungraceful heap next to the dumpster and turned to the bloodied Falcone goon. “Same goes for you,” he said, making the man wince. “Tell your boss that if he tries anything, you’ll be seeing me again.”

The man nodded wordlessly, his face pale in the flickering streetlight. Viktor took his leave, ascending to the rooftops once more.

 

The next day, Maroni’s nightclub burned to the ground in the early morning. Clearly, Falcone hadn’t believed the warning, which meant that Viktor had to pay the man a visit as well.

He left before sundown, and arrived just as dusk did. Timing was everything, if he wanted to create the right atmosphere to surround this new persona of his.

Truth be told, he was enjoying this. Almost as much as he had enjoyed needling Davis during the board meeting.

Viktor Nikiforov was recognizable, thanks to his trademark silvery hair and, if he were being honest, his very distinct nose courtesy of his Russian grandfather. Still, it took minimal effort to disguise himself and slip an envelope to a maitre’d at Falcone’s restaurant, plus a twenty to the man to ensure delivery to Falcone himself.

Years of studying persuasive writing and psychology meant that Viktor knew exactly what to say to make a man fear for his life. Exactly what to say to convince that man, a hardened criminal and lord of the mob underworld, to hastily abandon his excellent linguini and make a frenzied exit out the back of the building. It helped that Viktor name-dropped a few people that not even Falcone’s closest lieutenants knew about.

It had taken Viktor a lot of hacking, social engineering, and abuse of his best-friend privileges to find those names. And Chris wondered why Viktor had treated him to a lobster dinner twice in one week.

Now, he was perched atop a nearby fire escape, watching as Falcone burst out of the kitchen back door, surrounded by bodyguards armed to the teeth. How perfect.

It had been a while since Viktor had hit someone with his own two fists. He was long overdue.

The first tool in his technique kit was always the most theatrical, and Viktor was nothing if not theatrical. In any case, a surprise attack was practically tailor-made for him. His cloak coupled with his cowl, shadows, and the sheer absurdity of a man dropping from behind the small crowd of mobsters and taking out the two bringing up the rear made for an almost cinematic sequence, and the bodyguards were too surprised to draw their firearms right away.

There were seven bodyguards and Falcone himself. It was almost unfair.

Step one: get rid of the hardware. There were two parts to this - the first was to get into close quarters so that the guns were impractical to use. It didn’t hurt that people typically didn’t want to dole out or receive any friendly fire. Step two was to disable the actual firearms, or at least get them away from the bodyguards. That could be accomplished through a simple set of strikes that sent each man stumbling back, relieved of their weapons. Viktor had gotten very proficient at dumping the ammo and rendering the clips useless, and had spent the better part of the previous decade learning how to do so multiple times in the span of two minutes. All that was left was the fistfight.

These guys gave as good as he was hoping; at some point, the fight became a blur, a flurry of flying elbows, punches, and kicks. He broke several wrists, a few ribs, and at least one nose, and left the mobsters groaning on the wet pavement. Turning his head and glancing around, he picked out Falcone’s shape in the shadow of the building to his left. And he knew the mafioso had to be packing heat.

So he fired first.

Tasers, he decided as Falcone fell twitching to the ground, were inelegant and a bit anticlimactic. But he couldn’t deny their effectiveness.

Falcone was still jerking when Viktor hauled him up and slammed him against the brick wall, and the man’s eyes were wide and black with fear.

“I said,” Viktor growled, “that your little turf war was over.”

“Wh-who the fuck are you?!” Falcone stuttered. His breath still smelled like garlic.

Viktor leaned in, and damn if he wasn’t enjoying this. “I’m the Batman, and this town is under my protection now.” He dropped Falcone in a whimpering pile as the sound of police sirens drew nearer - he’d preemptively phoned in a tip for gun violence in the area and made sure to leave the evidence for the responding officers. There were a quite a few cops on the mob’s payroll at night but Viktor knew that not all of them were, and a good few of those clean cops were patrolling in the area. Falcone would be brought in, at least for the night, before his army of lawyers managed to spring him.

Still, Viktor knew it would take several more visits such as this for his message to sink in. As he watched the GPD swarm the semi-conscious mobsters in the alleyway underneath him, he mentally tallied known dirty cops versus the decent ones, making note of the ones he didn’t recognize. This was the financial district, and there were more corporate-leaning policemen and women in the area than mafia-affiliated ones. That, while an issue on its own, was still better than if he’d been in the Narrows or the theatre-entertainment district.

When Falcone was stuffed into a squad car, Viktor could hear him screaming about “the bat freak”. It brought a sardonic smirk to his lips.

Oh yes, he was enjoying this.

 

Things were quiet for a few days before the upstart Cobblepot gang began to edge in on the Falcone and Maroni territory, resulting in more scuffles. Viktor began to patrol known active spots, especially street corners run by the mob-affiliated drug pushers. He began to hear whispers, of the Bat that was raining down unholy terror on the poor, unsuspecting gangsters. It made him snort, but honestly, he was pleased with the effect of his costume choice. Yakov begrudgingly agreed that Viktor’s animal motif of choice was working well when Yuri unearthed a small blurb on The Batman on the Gotham Gazette website.

“Just don’t forget, you can’t just be a shadow,” Yakov said, shoving the tablet back at Yuri.

“I want to go with you,” Yuri piped up, his eyebrows knit and his jaw set.

“Not yet. Still gauging the climate on the streets,” Viktor answered, idly stirring his coffee.

Lilia was eyeing his bruised knuckles, an eyebrow raised in distaste. She tsk’d as she sipped at her own mug of tea, but Viktor didn’t have an answer to that. It was the weekend, and maybe the eccentric billionaire Viktor Nikiforov was getting into kickboxing or something for fitness. He’d worry about his excuses later.

“Don’t you have that meeting with that one charity nerd?” Yuri asked as he followed Viktor down into the cave. Mr. de la Iglesia had put the finishing touches on the massive mainframe for the computer and Viktor wasn’t done kicking the tires yet.

“Yes, but that’s not until lunchtime.” Viktor sat in the swivel chair and leaned forward, hands hovering over the keyboard before he decided to check in on Falcone’s arraignment.

The judge on the case was one bought by Maroni, as far as Viktor could tell. So while that was a problem for the future, he wasn’t letting the rival mob boss off lightly. Still, Falcone was the more well-established player on the Gotham scene. His lawyers were more expensive and more plentiful than his competitors’. He wouldn’t be spending too much longer in lockup. His bodyguards, though, had already been shipped upstate. They wouldn’t be coming back anytime soon.

“Do you actually like him?” Yuri asked, and Viktor raised his eyebrows and stopped what he was doing to swivel and stare at the teen.

“I’ve enjoyed our interactions to this point, yes,” Viktor said carefully, trying to read Yuri’s face.

“It’s just.” Yuri shrugged. “You’re not getting distracted, are you?”

Viktor laughed. “Oh, Yura. I know how to multitask.”

Yuri narrowed his eyes and then turned on his heel and strode away, probably to go tape up his hands and beat up a punching bag across the cavern.

Viktor went back to his busy work, but now he only paid half a mind to what he could find on the Maroni incidents. Really, there wasn’t much for him to work with; Maroni hadn’t registered a complaint and had chosen to levy his sway over the local beat cops to handle his nightclub’s burning down himself. And he also had to worry about fending off Cobblepot, who was proving himself to be something of an usurper upstart. It felt like Viktor had rolled a rock away and exposed all the creepy crawlies living underneath it.

And that wasn’t even going into the local cartels and the various urban gangs that had sprung up in the inner city. Despite the fact that these groups had about as much firepower and members as the mob, they weren’t nearly as influential - if Viktor had to hazard a guess, he would probably pin racism as the reason. The Latin cartels and the inner city gangsters were a hell of a lot less polished than even Cobblepot, and they didn’t trust the law at all where it could count. Plus, the cops were only too happy to do the bidding of their various corporate and mob overlords, taking out the competition that the Italians found beneath them.

Viktor found it funny that Gotham was the other last bastion of the once-great Italian mob, to be honest. New York certainly still held the crown when it came to the old-fashioned organized crime, but the art of the mafioso was a dying one and honestly, Viktor was perfectly happy to be the boot that kicked it out of Gotham once and for all.

He decided to let the Maroni case stew a bit longer and got up, intending to join Yuri at the punching bag, but something caught his eye.

Another robbery matching the M.O. of the Black Kat, reminding him of what he remembered of the Catwoman but lacking a few of her trademarks and bearing a few new ones. Also, the victims in this case were members of the infamous Grey family. Mila’s words from that night she visited when he first came home came back to him.

Black Kat was something of an enigma to him, if he was being honest with himself. The past few months of him closely monitoring the mob activity in the city had, oddly enough, kept crossing his path with that of the thief’s - either they were knowingly and willingly poking at the various crime families in the city as tensions devolved into childish turf wars with guns and drugs, or they kept getting hired by the families to rile the others up. Around Thanksgiving, Black Kat had stopped getting involved in the mafia shenanigans and returned to their roots: ripping off the members of Gotham’s upper crust whenever they got too mouthy for the Kat’s tastes, or just whenever they had something interesting that the Kat wanted. Considering that Anastasis, one of the most slippery fences in the city, kept shuffling along various wares from the Kat’s haul, the thief was having a very good New Year. It was almost impressive, but. It _was_ very illegal.

Sooner or later, he’d have to come face-to-face with the thief. It was only a matter of time.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, a reminder that he had company business to take care of for the second quarter reports before he could even think about getting ready for lunch. Leaving Yuri to the punching bag, Viktor headed back upstairs into the mansion to sequester himself in the den for the rest of the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued in 2019.
> 
> Happy New Year, fam!


	2. got a real good feelin' something bad about to happen ♛

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Black Kat and friends ponder Gotham's new vigilante.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title yanked from " _Somethin' Bad_ " by Miranda Lambert and Carrie Underwood.

There was a mob war underway in Gotham.

“We got out of the mafia shenanigans just in time,” Phichit said, flopped on Yuuri’s bed with his computer on his stomach. “This is… this is so messy.”

Yuuri groaned into his pillow. “Ugh. I hate the mob.”

“Hah! Big mood.” Phichit blew a raspberry. “Hardison’s having a good New Year, looks like.”

“We should take a vacation,” Yuuri said. “Do you think those three might have a job they could use us on?”

“You want to go to Portland and wait this out?” Phichit asked, tugging the box of Queen Anne cherries towards him. He and Yuuri had raided the post-holidays clearance section at the corner store and had stumbled back to Yuuri’s apartment with all the leftover Christmas candy they could carry. They were still working on it, weeks later.

“Maybe I’ll bother old Three-Socks,” Yuuri mused. “Go out to London for a while. I like London, they ran the Penguin out. They have good taste.”

“Well, they’re Brits, they still have Crown Jewels and shit,” Phichit said. “Instant class.” He delicately plucked a chocolate-cherry truffle from the Queen Anne package and nibbled at the bottom. “I think Mickey Bricks is still in hiding, though. You know Albert won’t run any big jobs without him anymore.”

“Did he fake his death again?” Yuuri rolled onto his side. “Good grief.”

“Looks like he’s just laying low, from the sounds of it. Ash says he’s on the mainland now.”

“INTERPOL is going to be busy, then,” Yuuri said. “Ugh, why is everywhere getting hot?”

“Global warming,” Phichit said, deadpan. “You could go to Japan.”

“Hm. I’m tempted.” Yuuri stole the Queen Anne cherries back from Phichit. “I’ll talk my parents and Mari into going on vacation with me until this all blows over--”

“Mari won’t go,” Phichit said. “You and I both know it.”

Yuuri rolled all the way onto his stomach, grabbed a pillow, and screamed into it.

“That’s it, buddy,” Phichit said, absently patting his shoulder. “Let it all out.”

“Why does Gotham have to be the home of the modern mafia?” Yuuri moaned. His nose was smushed against the thousand-thread-count pillowcase but he didn’t care. “Why can’t they just die out like the Prohibition?”

“Because there are still illegal drugs and loose gun laws.”

“Why do you have an answer for every inane question I ask?” Yuuri said, rolling his eyes.

Phichit grinned. “That’s my job.”

Yuuri blew a raspberry.

“Hey, I’m just trying to be helpful!” Phichit shut his laptop. “Besides, don’t you have that hot date with your new _point of contact_?” He waggled his eyebrows.

Yuuri let out a long, emotive sound that resembled the last cries of a dying walrus.

“ _Wow_ , someone who didn’t know you wouldn’t be able to tell how bad you had it for him back when you were a teenager.”

“I can’t… I can’t believe he wants to get lunch,” Yuuri whined. “Just like that. Oh my god. Phichit, I can’t do this.”

“Yes you can,” Phichit said. “Anabella Grey still has a huge crush on you, and you don’t even like her. If you can win her over, you can win over a guy you actually have the hots for. Yuuri, come on.”

“I’d rather rob Edmund Grey again,” Yuuri grumbled.

Phichit breathed in deeply through his nose. “You did that last week. At least let them beef up their security a little more, give us a challenge the next time.”

“Blech.”

They both started when someone knocked sharply on Yuuri’s front door, and Yuuri recognized Minako’s signature rap. “It’s open,” he called.

His mentor let herself in, and Yuuri heard the sound of the lock clicking shut behind her. “Yuuri?”

“Bedroom.”

Minako poked her head into the room and raised her eyebrows. “Day off?”

“What else are we supposed to do?” Phichit asked, drumming his fingers on his laptop. “Can’t go clubbing, there might be gangbangers and mobsters in the club. Can’t go out to eat, the mafia might show up. Can’t walk outside, there might be a shootout.”

“Ugh, fuckin’ mob,” Minako said, dropping her purse in the doorway and flopping onto the chaise lounge by the window. “Even the criminals are laying low. Maybe Falcone will finally kick it.”

Phichit blew another raspberry. “Right. Carmine Falcone is gonna get offed in another mob war, after he survived how many?”

“A girl can hope,” Minako said. “Yuuri, do you have mimosa stuff?”

“I should,” Yuuri said.

“Are you going to start drinking at ten in the morning?” Phichit asked, making a face. “Wow, what happened?”

“Got stood up for brunch,” Minako said, rising and drifting back out into the rest of the apartment. “Robert Decker is a dick who won’t let his wife have any fun on her own.”

“Ooh, we should borrow his car,” Yuuri said, sitting up. “He won’t shut up about his Lamborghini, we should find out what’s so special about it.”

“I’m up for that,” Phichit said as his phone buzzed. He checked it, and his face went slack in shock.

Yuuri waited for an explanation as Phichit unlocked his phone and scrolled through whatever alert had come through, expression unreadable. “Peach?” he finally asked.

“Holy shit,” Phichit said.

“What is it?” Minako asked, reappearing in the doorway with the uncapped bottle of orange juice in her hand.

Phichit looked up, his eyes flitting from Minako to Yuuri and back. He swallowed. “Someone’s taking on the mob.”

 

“I don’t recognize him,” Minako said as she examinined the stolen security cam footage Phichit had obtained via the police investigation. She squinted at the tablet in her hands, pacing around Yuuri’s living room. “Is he wearing a cape? What in the world?”

“Eliot says he recognizes the fighting style,” Phichit reported. He’d set up his laptop on the coffee table and patched it into the TV.

“Yeah?” Mozzie said from over Skype. Yuuri could hear the sound of New York traffic distantly in the background, which meant Mozzie was probably at June’s. Neil wasn’t there.

“Yeah,” Eliot Spencer said. He was definitely in Leverage’s headquarters, Yuuri could see Parker on the couch behind him. “It’s a very distinctive fighting style.”

“Quit teasin’ us, man,” Yuuri heard Hardison grumbling from off-camera before the hacker himself flopped into view.

“You’re not gonna _like_ where it’s _from_ , Hardison,” Eliot tossed back.

“It _does_ look familiar,” Danny Blue said from the other window. From the looks of it, he and his London crew were at Eddie’s bar. “But I can’t pinpoint from where.”

“Spill, Spencer,” Minako ordered.

Eliot sighed before finally answering, “League of Assassins.”

“What the _fuck_ ,” Phichit said. “Please, no, that’s just a myth.”

“Afraid not,” Albert said, finally speaking up. Danny adjusted his webcam so that the old roper swung into view. “The League of Assassins is as real as they come, ladies and gents. I’ve seen their machinations for decades, and I learned to avoid wherever they were rumored to be.”

“Wait, wait, wait, hold it,” Mozzie said. “League of Assassins? Aren’t they in Eurasia? _Where they should stay?_ ”

“The League has no borders,” Eliot said. “They go anywhere they see fit. We’re talking elite ninjas, here.”

“ _Ninjas,_ ” Hardison repeated, sounding and looking like he’d been hit in the face with a baseball bat. “You guys got ninjas in Gotham?”

“We have yakuza,” Yuuri said. “Not sure about ninjas.”

“You got yakuza, you got ninjas,” Eliot said. “No offense.”

“Can we really call them ninjas?” Mozzie asked, making a face. “These League of Assassins guys? Because they’re more like demons.”

“It’s all theatrics,” Albert said. “They take their image very seriously.”

“Maybe you should try and convince your family to take that trip to Hasetsu after all,” Phichit said to Yuuri.

“It doesn’t matter,” Eliot said. “The League of Assassins is everywhere, that’s the point.”

“This guy’s not with the League,” Parker said.

Everyone started talking at once, and Parker made a face at them all until they clammed up. “It’s not the League, but he probably trained with them. The League wouldn’t have been so obvious, seriously.” She poked her forehead. “Think about it. Besides, he’s operating alone. At least, it looks like he is.”

“He might have support,” Phichit said.

“Or he might be one prong of an attack,” Minako mused.

“The League does usually operate with teams,” Albert said. “But I’m still quite concerned.”

“We’re stayin’ out of Gotham,” Danny said. “No offense, mates, but we’d like to keep our ‘eads attached to our necks.”

“Yeah, agreed; even if this guy isn’t with the League, you all have that whole mob war thing brewing,” Mozzie said. “The Families up over here are getting kinda antsy with that stuff anyway. Even if Neil wasn’t on a leash, it’s probably a bad idea to be around there.”

“Thanks for all the help,” Yuuri said dryly. “You’re all peaches.”

“Hey,” Mozzie said. “If you want to come out to New York for a bit, the offer’s there.”

“Portland is nice this time of year,” Hardison added.

“We’re not leaving Gotham,” Minako said. “This is our city and I want to know what this idiot is doing, running around in a cape. What is this, Zorro?”

“Maybe he’s bein’ like the Scarlet Pimpernel,” Danny said.

Minako rolled her eyes.

“He’s going after the Maroni gang,” Phichit said. “Maybe this guy _is_ some kind of costumed vigilante, come to clean up Gotham’s streets.” He grimaced.

“You think he’ll come after you two?” Mozzie asked. “Seriously, if you feel like you’re gonna get whacked, please just come out to New York. June really misses you both.”

Yuuri pinched the bridge of his nose. “Noted. Thanks, Mozz.”

“Hey, same goes for the West Coast,” Eliot said. “You _really_ don’t want to tangle with these League guys. We have a safehouse in Washington, just say the word.”

“It’s appreciated,” Minako said. “We’re gonna ride this out and see what happens. Give Nate and Sophie our love.”

“Can do,” Eliot said, saluting. “You guys all stay safe.”

The Leverage International window went dark as they signed off.

“Tell Three-Socks he still owes me for the Detroit thing,” Mozzie said, and Danny nodded. “Alright, you fine folks better keep me posted about our two-bit Zorro impersonator. Neil and the Suit are on their way up.”

“Take care, Mozz,” Yuuri said as Mozzie hung up.

“Minako, darling,” Albert said, and Minako sighed. “Don’t take this lightly. I don’t want to bury any more friends.”

“I know what I’m doing, Albie,” Minako said.

“You’re always welcome in London,” Danny said, winking.

“Thanks,” Minako said, nodding. “Stay out of prison, and tell Mickey to stop fake-dying.”

“Hah, fat chance of that,” Danny said, and he hung up too.

Phichit closed out of Skype and groaned. “I’ve heard things about the League of Assassins,” he said. “Scary stuff. Not pretty. Not safe.”

Yuuri narrowed his eyes. “Scary how?”

“Like… they’re just straight up anarchists?” Minako asked, wrinkling her nose.

“Oh, no, if only we were that lucky,” Phichit said. “They’re like the CIA, but worse.”

“And we know how bad the CIA is,” Yuuri groaned, rubbing his temples. “Good grief.”

Phichit picked at some invisible mark on the laptop screen. “You know, I might want to take Eliot up on that safehouse.”

“You sure you want to go all the way out to Washington?” Minako made a face. “This is the rainy season, Phichit.”

Phichit crossed his arms. “Are there demonic ninjas in Washington? I rest my case.”

“You heard Spencer,” Yuuri shot back at him. “Apparently they’re everywhere.”

“No, we watch and wait, see what this caped crusader does,” Minako cut in. “Who knows what this guy is up to? Between the three of us, we have enough experience and resources to figure him out.”

“C’mon, Minako,” Yuuri whined. “Wouldn’t you like to see what happened to the old onsen?”

“And make you miss your hot date?” Minako raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think so.”

“That is _so_ not high on my priorities list,” Yuuri said, collapsing onto his couch. “I think this wannabe superhero might bump that off the top spot.”

“Way I see it, we might have to take a break from our night jobs,” Minako said. “Why not take a break from extracurriculars? We could have _social lives_ ,” she added, doing the “name in lights” gesture.

“I don’t want a social life,” Yuuri said, pouting. “I want a turn at Bob Decker’s Lambo, or maybe we could hack Matt Davis, didn’t he brag about getting some Ottoman artifacts?”

“He did just raise the prices on Midwest Prime’s heart medications,” Phichit agreed. “I’d like to see him taken down a few pegs.”

“Okay, fine,” Minako said. “Have at it. I’m going to lay low for a bit, until this masked guy gets caught or moves on from our city.” She gave Yuuri a long, unreadable look. “I never thought you’d have it in you, Yuuri. I’m impressed, but also slightly concerned.”

Yuuri grimaced at her. “I don’t _want_ to give up our night jobs,” he said. “But… ugh, you’re right,” he finally admitted. “It would be suicide to go out while this guy is beating up criminals.”

“We don’t know if he has a beef with all criminals,” Phichit said. “He might just be after the mafia. He might just _really_ hate Italian mobsters.”

“I don’t know,” Yuuri said, leaning backwards and dropping his head onto the back of the couch. “And that’s the part I hate the most about this, you know?”

“I can understand,” Minako said, slinking back into the kitchen to finish up the mimosas. “A healthy respect of the unknown has kept me alive all these years, after all.”

Phichit shook his head. “And yet you want to stick around.”

“Hey, as Minako Okukawa, I’m mostly legit,” she called from around the corner. “This dude has no reason to mess with me.”

“Yeah, well,” Phichit huffed and flopped onto the couch next to Yuuri. “I’m mostly legit, too.”

Yuuri snorted, pulling his buzzing phone from his pocket. “Oh, hey, it’s Leo.” He flicked the message open and punched in his passcode to unlock his phone. “New toys,” he announced. “Like Christmas all over again.”

“Hm,” Phichit said, tapping his chin. “You feel safe enough to go test out some goodies outside town?”

Yuuri raised his eyebrows. “The empty lot out in the south side?”

Phichit winked. “What are the odds that Assassin Guy will be there?”

“Hm.” Yuuri quickly typed and sent off his reply. He got the response quickly. “Yep, it works. Guang-hong will be there, too.”

“The boys are back in town,” Phichit cheered, shutting his laptop. “Are we going now?”

“No time like the present,” Yuuri said, standing. “I’ll just go change into something more outdoorsy. Minako-sensei!” he added, poking his head into the kitchen where his mentor was nursing her mimosa. “Lock up behind yourself?”

“Of course,” she said, nodding. “Be safe, Yuuri.”

 

Neither Phichit nor Yuuri had cars, so they caught an Orange Line train out to the suburbs and then Brown Line bus further out before hoofing it to the industrial neighborhood. Leo de la Iglesia lived nearby with his parents, and Guang-hong’s father rented an apartment along the Orange Line, so it wasn’t surprising that the younger guys had already beaten them to the mostly-demolished lot.

“You’re not gonna believe what we got today,” Phichit said as Leo was digging through his duffle bag of goodies.

Both Leo and Guang-hong looked up as Phichit showed them the video of the guy fighting the mob on his phone.

“What the hell?” Leo asked, making a face. “I mean, there was stuff on the news about arrests, but no one mentioned this guy.”

“I’m confused,” Guang-hong said. “Is this dude a fed? Spec forces?”

Yuuri stripped off his heavy overcoat; it was much too warm for it. “No idea, but one of our sources says he fights like the League of Assassins do.”

“I’ve heard of those guys,” Guang-hong said. “Dad would be pissed if I knew, but… they’re spooky, man.”

“We don’t know if he’s legit,” Phichit said. “But we’re gonna be careful, tread lightly for the next couple of weeks at least.”

“That’s no fun,” Leo said. “I wanted to see how this baby worked against that vibration-detecting glass at the Grey offices.” He held up what looked like a… well, Yuuri couldn’t exactly say what the device looked like. Maybe an industrial-strength clothes iron?

“Oooh,” he said.

“If it were up to me,” Phichit went on, shoving his phone back into his pocket, “we’d be on the first plane out of here to _anywhere_ else.”

“Yeah, well, you’re not in school anymore,” Guang-hong said. “’S not like we can leave whenever things get hot.”

“Point,” Phichit admitted.

“Okay, we’re not leaving town,” Yuuri said. He pointed at the device in Leo’s hand. “How does that work?”

“It counter-vibrates and balances you out when you’re working on motion-sensor glass,” Leo said, popping the casing off. “I cannibalized a few phones for their vibrating bits.”

“Oooooooooh,” Phichit said, mock gasping. “Vibrating bits.”

Leo rolled his eyes. “ _Anyway_. This sensor here picks up your movements and basically smooths out whatever blips you register on any radars. It’ll need some tweaking but you’re already pretty good with vibration sensors.”

“Hey, anything that can make my job easier,” Yuuri said. “What about the rappelling gear?”

“You really did a number on it,” Leo said, diving back into his duffle. “But I got it fixed. Reinforced the lines on it, in case Catwoman was wondering.”

“‘Reinforced the lines,’” Guang-hong repeated, raising his eyebrow. “What does that mean?”

“That's the nylon rope,” Yuuri said, pulling the tether out and demonstrating. “The line was damaged in the last job we did, and it nearly snapped on me as I was rappelling away.”

“Please try to avoid excessive heat next time,” Leo said. “The materials I used are finicky.”

“Hey, it wasn’t my idea.” Yuuri shrugged. “Friction happens, though.”

“I tried to compensate for that, but _please_ don’t set anything else on fire.”

Yuuri and Phichit exchanged nonchalant looks, and Leo threw his hands up in disgust.

“Are you going to test the rappelling gear?” Guang-hong asked, looking excited.

Yuuri looked up at one of the nearby buildings, hollowed out after the occupants had been evicted. This one had been standing empty for over a year now, after the plans to demolish it and replace it with a luxury high-rise fell through - _typical Gotham corruption_. “Yeah, let’s do that.”

“I wonder if we’ll get lucky and find another abandoned mattress,” Phichit quipped as Leo repacked his bag and they made for the entrance, Yuuri already figuring out what kind of a lock he’d have to pick.

He shuddered at the thought of another dirty mattress filled with God knew what. “I’m gonna trust Leo’s engineering.”

“I know you’re probably thinking about mites and bedbugs but I’m going to take that as a compliment,” Leo said.

“One of these days, I wanna go to Portland with you guys,” Guang-hong said. “Those people sound so cool.”

“Parker would love you,” Phichit mused, raising his eyebrows. “Eliot would probably teach you how to throat-punch people.”

Guang-hong’s eyes glittered. “Cool!”

“The last thing we need is for Guang-hong to become a fully-fledged hitter,” Yuuri said, making Leo laugh. “Don’t give me that, one of the deadliest people I know is that aforementioned one-hundred-pound blonde lady who only stands up to my shoulder.”

“You know the strangest people, in a good way,” Leo said.

“We have yet to meet either Danny or Debbie Ocean,” Phichit said. “But one day…”

“Danny Ocean is somewhere in Argentina, last I heard,” Yuuri scrunched up his nose as he picked the lock to the abandoned apartment building. “Debbie’s in prison.”

“She’s due for parole soon,” Phichit reminded him.

“Oh god, Sensei is probably going to go visit her once she’s out,” Yuuri said, letting his head fall forward and knock against the door. “I don’t want to think of what kind of trouble they’ll get into in New York.”

“I hear it’s a fun town, and it has less gangsters with tommy guns,” Leo said, examining his nails.

Guang-hong shrugged as Yuuri got the lock undone and pulled the door open. “Well, if this masked guy is fighting the mob, maybe he’ll clean up the streets?”

Yuuri sighed as he led the way into the dusty, dank shell of a building. “Maybe, but I have a feeling things are just getting started.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cameos! All these characters are from shows/movies I adore:
> 
> Parker, Eliot Spencer, and Alec Hardison are from _Leverage_
> 
> Mozzie (and Neil and the Suit/Peter) are from _White Collar_
> 
> Michael "Mickey Bricks" Stone, Danny Blue, Ash "Three-Socks" Morgan, and Albert Stroller are from _Hustle_
> 
> Danny and Debbie Ocean are from the _Ocean's_ films
> 
> Yuuri and Minako are popular~
> 
> As usual, find me on all the social media sites! Next chapter coming as soon as I figure it out!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for sticking with this series and this AU, it's incredibly close to my heart. I can't wait to pick up again!
> 
> Places to find me: my [Tumblr](https://linneakou.tumblr.com), [Twitter](https://www.twitter.com/linneakou), [Batman AU Tumblr](https://yoibatmanau.tumblr.com), [Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.io/LinneaKou), and [Dreamwidth](https://linneakou.dreamwidth.org/).


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